“For
the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to
us who are being saved it is the power of God.” [1Cor.1:18]
For
us who are called to follow Jesus, I would suggest that the cross is a lens
through which we see the power of God, the power of love, working through the
person of Jesus. As
I thought about what Paul wrote, a hymn came to mind that is more associated
with Lent than Epiphany, but one which I feel sheds some light on what Paul
wrote.
So
I invite you to briefly meditate with me on a hymn written in 18th century
by the Father of English hymnody, Isaac Watt who wrote:
the young Prince of Glory died,
my richest gain
I count but loss,
and pour
contempt on all my pride.
What
do we see when we look at the cross – those we see in our churches and hanging
on the walls of our homes?
When
we see the cross of Jesus, do we wonder about the injustice in the world that
it represents?
When
we see the cross, do we see the people we crucify – the people we misjudge, the
people we feel the world would be better off without; the bad people who we
feel deserve what they get? Do
we see them on Jesus’s cross?
Do
we see the people who misjudge and think ill of us? Do
we see our enemies on that cross?
Do
we see ourselves on that cross, as the failures we sometimes are for the wrongs
we have done and the good we have left undone– for our lack of forgiveness and
mercy we are called to do?
Do
we see the people we love, our family members, our friends and our neighbors?
When
we survey that wondrous cross – do we see Jesus? Because
in Jesus we’re all there – all of us – all that is – is on that cross – right
there with Jesus. Because
of Jesus, that instrument of torturous death created as cruel tool of human
justice becomes the symbol of transforming love in the unfathomable humanity of
Jesus. For
on the cross, the very human Jesus did something extraordinarily human.
Let
me say that again, on the cross, the very human Jesus did something extraordinarily
human.
The
Gospel of Luke tells us that in the midst of his agony, in the midst of his
despair, in the midst of feeling abandoned by the very God he loved as his
Father, in the midst of feeling unforgiven, he forgave. He
forgave his tormentor, his enemies, those who hated him, those who mocked him,
those who crucified him, and those who abandoned him.
There,
in the brokenness of his body, in the brokenness of his contrite heart, and
there, in the humility of his emptied spirit, he offered and made a space for
all of us and for the God he loved as Father to dwell in unity. There
in that broken, contrite, and humble space he forgave all there is to forgive, and
in that eternal moment of unrelenting, undying forgiveness, he restored the
relationship between humanity and divinity – between God and mankind. [Hebrews 10]
So
Isaac Watts writes:
Forbid it Lord,
that I should boast
save in the cross
of Christ my God;
all the vain
things that charm me most,
I sacrifice
them to his blood.
When
Jesus prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane, “Let this cup pass from me, yet not
my will, but your will” there was no booming voice from heaven telling Jesus
what to do. Unlike Adam and Eve in another garden, Jesus
didn’t seek power through knowing. Jesus
emptied himself of any sense of power, including the power of his own will.
And
Jesus’s prayer was met with silence – a silence that spoke of choice.
Like
us, Jesus always faced a choice – a choice he had from the moment he was sent
into the wilderness to be tempted, a choice he had in every step of his
ministry – the choice to turn away, to think of number one or to face those who
approached.
Some
Jesus scholars have made the intriguing suggestion that when Jesus took his
disciples to the Garden of Gethsemane or the Mount of Olives he was considering
making an escape through the wooded area under the cover of darkness. The
Gospels tells us the disciples were armed and ready for a fight, but Jesus’s
struggle was fought in prayer.
It
was a very human moment, no matter how one looks at it, and it was a very
pivotal moment in the redemption narrative. In fact, the story of redemption,
the story of salvation hinges on the choice Jesus made that night. The
Gospels tells us when he heard the footsteps of those seeking his arrest,
instead of running Jesus turned to meet them as he always turned to meet those
who approached. He met them in the peace of God. With
every step of his journey into the love of God, Jesus emptied himself of his
own will, seeking only to love God by loving that which God loves – the whole
of creation.
It
is clear that Jesus did not want to die and we can deduce from the psalmist and
prophets that God never willed his death or anyone’s death as some sort of blood
sacrifice to pay the price of sin. [Genesis
22, Psalm 51:17, Isaiah 57:15]
In
the final analysis, we can say with confidence that Jesus died because Jesus loved.
See, from his
head, his hands, his feet
sorrow and
love flow mingled down!
Did e’re
such love and sorrow meet
or thorns
compose so rich a crown?
So
what did God see when he looked at the cross that Jesus died on?
In
Jesus, God sees God. For God is love.
Through the love of Jesus God sees all of us. Jesus
died as one of us – as us – out of love for our heavenly Father who he trusted
beyond any certainty of an outcome. [Philippians 2]
In
the deathly silence he felt on the cross, Jesus chose to forgive. In
Jesus’s forgiveness, God forgives all - And
God raised Jesus up and in
Jesus, God raises us all. In
Jesus, God saw death’s threat to hold back love, destroyed.
In
the death of Jesus, the power of God’s love for humanity was affirmed in the
humanity of Jesus's love for God.
When
we survey the wondrous cross of Jesus being brought down the aisle of this
church, do we feel the draw; do we hear the call to follow that cross to where ever
it leads us – to follow Jesus?
When
we see the cross do we feel the strength of God to stand firm in the face
injustice and meet it with the face love and the peace of God?
When
we see the cross are we reminded to forgive as we have been forgiven – to raise
up as we have been raised?
Like
Jesus, we have choices each and every day on how to live our lives. We
can see this mortal coil, as William Shakespeare put it, as the be all and end
all of all there is to life and live as if there is no tomorrow - Or
we can see life through the lens of Jesus wondrous cross and say with Isaac
Watts:
Were the
whole realm of nature mine,
that were an
offering far too small;
Love so
amazing, so divine
demands my
soul, my life, my all.
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